


living for giving the devil his due

by narcissablaxk



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Ali is a good person Daniel is an unreliable narrator promise, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Daniel/Ali is only mentioned, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Healing, Karate Kid 2 AU, Karate as Therapy or whatever they do, M/M, Redemption, Slow Burn, lawrusso, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Hell is yourself and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person.He was still wearing a brace on his knee the first time Johnny Lawrence walked through the back gate of Mr. Miyagi’s house. He didn’t know how Johnny figured out where Mr. Miyagi lived, and it didn’t matter – Daniel hobbled to his feet, unsteady on the uneven ground, and fixed Johnny with a searing look –don’t try anything, not here.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, Kumiko/Daniel LaRusso
Comments: 106
Kudos: 298





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we have the Karate Kid 2 AU that only a few people asked for. Some parts of the canon have been shifted for my purposes, obviously.

In the aftermath of the tournament, Daniel learned that when Bobby Brown took out his knee, and, by extension, when Johnny Lawrence drove his elbow into it a second time, they tag-team tore his anterior cruciate ligament. He had no idea what it was, and the doctor was busy pointing at his x-rays and pointing out other damage done to the joint that he didn’t really explain what it was. 

All he knew was that they were encouraging him to consider surgery, and his mother gave him a strained nod from the corner of the room, her knuckles white around the strap of her purse, and guilt smashed into him like a freight train. This would cost _so_ much; they would be struggling for years after this, more than they already were. 

He told the doctor he didn’t want surgery, but the doctor didn’t seem to care what he thought. He pulled Daniel’s mother into the hallway and talked to her in hushed tones Daniel couldn’t hear over the pounding of pain in his knee, in his ribs, in the bruise on his jaw that was just starting to show. It was like listening to something swinging violently against his eardrum, a heavy rhythm of _pressure_ and _no pressure,_ over and over again, until the nurse came in and gave him something “for the pain,” she said. 

He woke in a fog so thick he could barely open his eyes. His mother was calling his name, her hand insistently tugging on his, her long nails brushing accidentally against his bruised knuckles. 

“They’re taking you in for surgery, honey,” she was telling him. “You’re gonna be okay, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

He didn’t remember the surgery, or being wheeled down the hallway. He didn’t remember the day after it either. 

His memories were all shoved unceremoniously into a box without a label and left to fester for a while. He didn’t bother to re-open it, not when each new day brought more pain, more issues with simple things like getting up in the middle of the night to pee, like wondering, when the nurses turned off the lights and left him to sleep, how his mother was going to pay for this. 

He didn’t have any answers, and he didn’t dare ask any of the questions out loud. 

***

He was still wearing a brace on his knee the first time Johnny Lawrence walked through the back gate of Mr. Miyagi’s house. He didn’t know how Johnny figured out where Mr. Miyagi lived, and it didn’t matter – Daniel hobbled to his feet, unsteady on the uneven ground, and fixed Johnny with a searing look – _don’t try anything, not here._

Unbidden, one of those memories from the night of the tournament came back in a rush of colors and sounds – Kreese, with his arm locked around Johnny’s neck, Johnny’s face turning red as he struggled, the sound that left his mouth high-pitched and altered by Kreese’s unrelenting pressure. 

The way he felt a pain in his chest that told him _run run run,_ and he couldn’t tell if the feeling wanted him to run _toward_ Johnny to help or _away_ so he wouldn’t have to see. But Mr. Miyagi answered the question before he could ask it, and Daniel watched, transfixed, as Johnny earned a heavy, life debt. 

“I went by your apartment,” Johnny explained, and he wasn’t wearing the headband, the bruises on his face had healed – why hadn’t Daniel seen him at school since the tournament? Probably because he was being taken to and from class fifteen minutes before each bell and that gave him breathing room, precious space between him and everyone else. “Your mother told me where you were.” 

“Right,” he said flatly, because he didn’t believe that his mother told Johnny any goddamned thing, not after what he did right in front of her face. “What are you doing here?” 

Johnny shifted on his feet, like he couldn’t quite find his footing, and before he could answer, Mr. Miyagi stepped out onto the porch and beckoned Johnny to come inside. Daniel watched as Johnny trotted up the steps to the door, and, after Mr. Miyagi pointed, toed off his shoes before he stepped inside. 

He was left outside to grumble and toss little pebbles into the pond, eyes drifting up toward the door every few seconds, hoping against reason that Mr. Miyagi would throw Johnny out, that Johnny would come storming out the door and leave, that _something_ would happen because what the hell did they have to talk about for so long?

Almost an hour later, the doors soundlessly slid open and Johnny stepped out, followed by Mr. Miyagi. He was holding the Japanese sanders that Mr. Miyagi had once handed Daniel. 

No, he _couldn’t_ –

Daniel watched, aghast, as Johnny kneeled down on the deck and started sanding, adjusting at Mr. Miyagi’s hushed “big circles, one, then the other.” 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” 

Johnny looked up at him immediately, leaning back on his haunches. He opened his mouth to speak, and then Daniel watched his eyes drift down to the thick brace on his knee. He snapped his jaw shut and got back to work. 

“So you’re not gonna say nothing?” Daniel goaded, using his one crutch that he insisted on using as a cane to get closer. He looked up at Mr. Miyagi, who was looking at him patiently, like he was waiting for Daniel’s unseemly outburst to be over. “What?” 

“Daniel-san, come inside.” 

He went wide around Johnny, as if he worried that the other boy would reach out and yank his crutch out from underneath him, and he could feel Johnny’s eyes following him, wary, and his hands tightened on the sanders. His knuckles were bruised, even if the rest of him wasn’t. 

Mr. Miyagi helped Daniel sit on the little chair that they usually avoided before Daniel’s injury, closing the door behind him. 

“What is he doing here?” Daniel insisted, hating how grating and whiny his voice sounded. “The – the sanders –”

“He want to train here,” Mr. Miyagi said simply. 

Daniel hoped that he’d get used to Mr. Miyagi’s habit of saying less and meaning more, but in this case, he glared incredulously at him, hoping that he’d just decide to explain himself. When Mr. Miyagi didn’t, he tightened his jaw, so much that he could feel his wisdom teeth coming in acutely suddenly, and pursed his lips. 

“You want me to play nice,” he deadpanned. 

Mr. Miyagi gave him a wan smile that told him that while that was his wish, he didn’t think Daniel was really capable of it, which lit a flame of fury at the base of Daniel’s spine and sent it flying up the fuse to the back of his neck. 

Daniel was powerless to resist a challenge, and even if Mr. Miyagi didn’t realize it, that’s exactly what he was issuing him. 

A challenge. 

***

Johnny and Daniel existed in a perpetual awkward silence for another week before Johnny made the mistake of showing up while Mr. Miyagi was trying to help Daniel with physical therapy. As a rule, he saw the physical therapist the doctor told him he had to see, but Mr. Miyagi just…understood him. So after his usual physical therapy appointments, Mr. Miyagi would help him with kata, weak movements that Daniel knew he was too advanced for, gently coaxing him through his proud moments, ever-patient.

He was trying to stretch when he heard the back gate open, and in his haste to turn around, he felt his good leg naturally shift his weight to the bad knee, and knew that he was about to fall. 

Mr. Miyagi caught him under the arm before he could hit the ground and held onto him silently while Daniel struggled to put his good leg under him again, trying to put himself back on his feet while he floundered under Johnny’s gaze. 

And then he felt another hand underneath his other arm, steadying him. He planted his good foot, and the movement was almost a stomp, and he wrenched his arm out of Johnny’s arm, except Mr. Miyagi had already let go of him, and he had to hurriedly grab Johnny’s shoulder to keep himself upright. The blond boy didn’t speak, but stood still, holding out the abandoned crutch for Daniel to take. 

“Thanks,” he grumbled, halfway under his breath, and he was pretty sure he heard Johnny huff a laugh in response. 

***

Another week later and Daniel was off his crutch, with the big brace traded for a smaller, more flexible one. He could stay on his feet longer, he could do some of the kata that actually challenged him. He was excited – he finally felt like he would finally heal. Except, of course, the haunting shadow of Johnny Lawrence, who seemed to follow him from the high school to Mr. Miyagi’s house every single day. 

One day, he finally got tired of the ghost and decided to test his substance. 

“So…” he said one day, determinedly loud. Johnny winced at the volume. “Going to prom?” 

Johnny raised his eyebrows at him, looking maddeningly like _this is what you want to talk about?_ And Daniel almost threw up his hands and left because _what exactly_ did Johnny want from him, anyway, and then he shrugged. 

“Yeah. You?” 

“My ma has been all over that for a month already,” Daniel grumbled. “Picked out a blue tux and everything.” 

“You going with Ali?” 

And that was where the conversation stopped.

***

He managed to get the brace off before prom. He was marginally proud of that – the doctor implied that it wouldn’t come off before graduation – but he got dressed in that blue tux and went to prom unhindered, Ali on his arm. 

He should have known something was wrong the moment she peeled off from him, less than ten minutes into the dance, muttering something about getting them both a drink. Half an hour later, and no drink in sight, Daniel went looking, realizing as he went that his knee was sore, like he’d worked it too much, which didn’t factor out right, because he hadn’t even done anything yet. 

The whole smelly gym was full of balloons and streamers and green and white everywhere, and if Daniel wasn’t by himself, maybe he would have enjoyed the way it looked. But alone, the pain in his knee radiating up his leg, the whole place looked cheesy, silly, childish. There was no charm in the place anymore, just like there wasn’t any charm in his stupid blue tux. 

He wished he’d gone for a plain black one, or even done what Johnny Lawrence had done and gone red. Daniel spotted him the second they walked in, blond hair bright and red tux jacket somehow rolled up to the elbows. He tore his eyes away and tried not to think about it. 

Ali was on the other side of the dance floor, holding her own cup of punch, color high in her cheeks when Daniel found her. 

“Oh, Daniel,” she said, as if she hadn’t gone a little paler at the sight of him. “I was just coming to find you.” 

“Yeah, okay,” he said, knowing that he’d let that one slide because she really was so damn beautiful under the lights, a little woven crown in her hair, her dress pale pink. “Do you want to dance?” He wanted to get at least one in before his knee put him in so much pain he could barely walk. 

“Maybe in a bit.” 

Her friend caught his gaze and quickly looked away, and embarrassment bloomed in his chest in the aftermath.

It wasn’t long before he lost her again, the whole evening a daze now that the pain in his knee was settling in more completely. He limped his way to the punch table, pouring himself a cup of it with shaking hands, his eyes trying to pick Ali out in the crowd, knowing even as he did that it might as well be futile. 

What had gone so wrong in so little time? He couldn’t understand it, and the longer he thought about it, the harder it was to concentrate on anything at all. All he knew was that his feelings were hurt, in that childish way that gave them a real, physical pain in his chest. 

“Whoa, you drunk, LaRusso?” Johnny’s voice was an unwelcome pull back to reality. He took a hasty step backwards and lowered himself into a chair that he almost missed. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

“I’m not drunk,” Daniel mumbled, his hand dropping to his bad knee. Johnny’s eyes followed the movement of his hand closely, observantly. “Have you seen Ali?” 

Johnny’s brows knit together while he poured himself some punch. He downed about half of it before he bothered to answer. “Saw her outside talking to someone in their car,” he said. “Like half an hour ago.” 

“Someone,” Daniel said evenly. 

“A guy,” Johnny relented. 

“Great,” Daniel muttered, drinking a little of the punch before screwing up his face. “Who spiked it?” 

Johnny shrugged one shoulder. “Dutch.” 

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Degenerate.” 

“Stop being so uptight, LaRusso, it’s a party,” Johnny said, sounding almost like his old self. Daniel bit his lip and looked into the crowd again, looking for Ali. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t find her. Something about the way Johnny answered his question told him unequivocally that he wasn’t lying.

“I’m gonna –”

“She was out there,” Johnny pointed, reading his mind. 

She was still there by the time Daniel managed to limp his way out there, the heavy feeling of Johnny’s eyes on his back most of the way. She was leaning into the driver’s side window of a white car, slick and shiny and a little like a sports car, and Daniel was reminded so forcibly of Johnny’s car that he stuck around long enough to make eye contact with her, her eyes big and guilty and wide in the moonlight before he turned around and went back inside. 

He hid out in the hallway, near his locker, sitting on the cold tile floor, his jacket discarded beside him, legs spread in a way that made him feel like a toddler. He heard the songs start to wind down and reflected that he’d never get a chance to dance at his own prom, the realization surprisingly sad when he was listening to the music through cement walls, all alone. 

Then again, wasn’t he always alone in this damn town? 

He must have zoned out, sitting there, his thoughts swirling around him without taking hold, like glimpses of dreams or nightmares that slipped out of sight if he thought about them too much, because when he came back, the music was done and someone was calling his name. 

It was Johnny, his red jacket also discarded, his bowtie untied and hanging. He stopped in front of him, looking concernedly down at him, and didn’t speak for a moment before he offered his hand. 

“Come on,” he said when Daniel didn’t take it. “You can’t drive with your leg like that.” 

He didn’t ask how he knew. 

Somehow, Johnny ended up driving Daniel’s car, muttering something about how Bobby was taking his car. Daniel didn’t argue – he caught one last look at Ali, arm in arm with one of her friends, as she was walking away. She didn’t look back. 

“Why are you training with Mr. Miyagi?” Daniel asked ten minutes into their drive, realizing that Johnny was taking him to Mr. Miyagi’s place instead of is apartment. “What’s in it for you?” 

Johnny didn’t look over at him, but Daniel caught the way the muscle in his neck jumped. “I quit Cobra Kai,” he said, as if that explained it. 

“Okay,” Daniel said, hoping he’d say more. 

But he didn’t – he kept driving, the tendons in his arms tense like he was really holding onto the steering wheel, like he wasn’t too comfortable to be here, with Daniel next to him. 

Good, Daniel thought, a little cruelly. 

“I’m sorry about your knee,” he said almost twenty minutes later, when the drive was coming to an end. 

“Oh,” Daniel said, looking down at it, his ugly satisfaction at Johnny’s discomfort dissipating. “I just overworked it today, I think –”

“I mean for what I did to it,” Johnny clarified, just as quietly as before, the words almost lost to the wind. “I didn’t…” 

But what exactly he _didn’t_ , Daniel didn’t know, because he didn’t finish. 

“Oh,” Daniel said again, blankly this time, because he really didn’t know what to do with a genuine Johnny Lawrence apology, except that his face was painfully impassive as he surveyed the road, distracting the muscles in his face with another task to keep all emotions at bay. Daniel studied him for a moment before he let his head fall back on the headrest and sighed. 

“He saved my life,” Johnny said when he pulled into the drive, parking the car in the spot Daniel always left it. Daniel didn’t have to think hard about who he meant. 

“He does that,” he said archly. Johnny nodded once before getting out of the car to help Daniel stand. “I don’t need your help,” he said, a trifle too harshly. He wobbled the moment his bad leg took on any weight, and Johnny tightened his hold on his arm. 

“Whatever, LaRusso.” 

Still, he guided Daniel into the house before slipping out the front door and getting into the driver’s seat of his own car, with Bobby Brown sitting curiously in the passenger seat. Daniel watched him leave before painstakingly stripping himself out of his stupid tux and crawling onto the little cot that Mr. Miyagi left for him ever since he had surgery, slipping into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mention of Daniel being "crippled" in this chapter - his own angry words. If that kind of time-period typical ableism upsets you, be aware.

Johnny slept fitfully the night after prom – he snuck into the house and crept upstairs silently. He didn’t want to wake his mother, who would surely ask him about the dance, about who he danced with, who he did not dance with, the whole deal. He didn’t have the energy to tell her that he didn’t dance with Ali, that he spent most of the night sipping spiked punch that tasted like cough syrup, watching Daniel LaRusso’s night go terribly. 

He woke relatively early, an internal alarm clock rousing him before he managed to get any semblance of deep sleep and stayed in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He still felt a natural inclination to be pleased that Daniel’s night went poorly, a residual resentment that carried over from getting kicked in the face and humiliated at the _one thing_ he thought he was good at, but he couldn’t even take any pleasure in the satisfaction. 

No, he felt…almost sorry for him. He knew, better than anyone, how it felt to be pushed away by Ali, to be forgotten and left behind. 

And certainly Mr. Miyagi would want him to dwell on _those_ feelings instead of the childish, shameful part of him that wanted to relish in any sort of ripple of displeasure on Daniel LaRusso’s face. 

He didn’t expect to be welcomed into Mr. Miyagi’s home – he expected even less to be allowed to train with him. He had gone to Daniel’s apartment two weeks after his surgery to apologize – he spent those two weeks drinking and smoking and wallowing in his own self-loathing, unable to bring himself to see any of his friends, certainly unable to look Dutch in the eye. Dutch, who turned away when Kreese latched his arm around Johnny’s neck. 

Daniel’s mother was a frightening woman – she met him at the door with crossed arms and narrowed eyes that reminded him so much of her son that he was momentarily unable to speak, mouth opening and closing like a fish before the words tumbled gracelessly out. 

An ugly, warped apology to the person who didn’t even need to hear it. 

But she softened a little around the eyes and told him where Mr. Miyagi lived. She didn’t accept the apology, he was acutely aware of that, but she did tell him, “you should tell that to Daniel,” so he figured that was as close as he would get. 

It was certainly more than he deserved.

When he found Daniel in that lush backyard, Mr. Miyagi had allowed Daniel less than ten seconds of a reaction before he stepped in to avert disaster, and for that, more than anything else, he was grateful. He directed him into the small home, sparingly decorated but unequivocally a home, and asked Johnny to explain himself. 

And by definition, that was not something Johnny was used to doing, and he certainly wasn’t good at it, but Mr. Miyagi listened with a soft intensity that seemed to pull the words up his throat, and Johnny didn’t even really remember what he said, or how he said it. It was all an anxious, embarrassing blur, and when he was done, Mr. Miyagi put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder and handed him some round things that he called “Japanese sanders.” 

And then he was being trained by Mr. Miyagi, and he wasn’t even sure he’d asked to be, but he missed karate, missed all of it with an intensity he hadn’t expected, and the grace that Mr. Miyagi offered him without even asking him if he wanted it was more than Johnny had ever been given in seventeen years. 

So the day after prom, he got up and got dressed and drove over to Mr. Miyagi’s, ready to sand more of the deck, or wax the cars, or do whatever the man asked him to do. He found the yellow car where he’d parked it, and Daniel half-asleep on a little cot in the little open space the house allowed. 

“What are you doing here?” Daniel asked him, and it was, for the first time, not spoken in anger. He was just curious, and Johnny didn’t really know what to do with that. 

He shrugged. “Chores, probably,” he said nonchalantly. “He hasn’t told me yet.” 

Daniel kept staring up at him, the scrutinizing look shifting into something that looked more like a glare, and didn’t speak. Johnny narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Something else you’d like to say, LaRusso?” he asked. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked again. 

“I already told you –”

“No, I mean _what are you doing here_?” he asked, scrambling up to his feet, swaying dangerously as he put weight on his knee and considered lifting it, like a puppy that stepped on a thorn. After a moment’s consideration, he stubbornly kept his foot planted. 

The apology was still there, lodged in the middle of his throat, and if Johnny wasn’t careful, he’d open his mouth and it would crawl out, haphazard and unremarkable. He kept his mouth defiantly closed. 

“Whatever, I don’t know why I asked,” Daniel muttered, mostly to himself, turning back to his little bed, a mess of sheets and blankets and his pillow was halfway onto the floor and how the hell did LaRusso sleep anyway? Like he fought? 

Words rose up and out of his mouth like vomit before he could stop them. “I didn’t ask him to train me, you know.” 

“Like I’d believe you.” 

“What was that, LaRusso?” 

Daniel hauled himself up even taller, succeeding in really only emphasizing how small and slight he really was, and took a hasty step closer to Johnny, so close that if he breathed deeply, their chests would be touching. 

“I. Don’t. Believe. You,” he growled, his hand tightening, but whether he was going to accusingly poke Johnny in the chest or punch him in the face was undeterminable. 

“I don’t give a shit –”

A knock interrupted them, Daniel jumping so badly that he had to take a step back to keep his balance. Wordlessly, soundlessly, Mr. Miyagi walked through the garden door and went to the front, opening the door. He didn’t spare either of them a glance.

“I have a delivery for a Mr. _Mee-ya-gee_ ,” the postman said, holding out a letter. “Overnight priority.” 

“It’s Miyagi,” Johnny and Daniel said at the same time, Johnny flatly, Daniel belligerently. 

“Oh, okay,” the postman said like it didn’t bother him at all. “All the way from Okinawa.” 

Mr. Miyagi stared down at the envelope, hands still ever-steady on the letter. Daniel limped over, still favoring his good knee more than he thought people could see, and stood at his side. Johnny stayed where he was – if this was going to be some sort of emotional moment, he didn’t have a place here. 

The idea still stung a little, even if it _was_ common sense. Would he ever have someone like Daniel had Mr. Miyagi? He didn’t want to dwell too long on the pessimistic possibilities. But Mr. Miyagi was opening the envelope and Daniel was looking over his shoulder, and it hurt deeper, like a sharp ache in his ribs. They were a family, and what was he doing? Forcing himself into it? 

He looked down at this shoes, on the little mat by the door – how they were sitting apart from Daniel’s and Mr. Miyagi’s. When the postman left, he would go too, he decided. He didn’t belong here. 

“What is it, Mr. Miyagi?” Daniel was asking, and his voice, so much softer at the edges when he was talking to his mentor, was what pulled Johnny out of his thoughts. “What does it say?” 

“Miyagi father very sick,” Mr. Miyagi said quietly. “Must go to Okinawa right away.” 

Johnny watched Daniel’s face crumble, just behind Mr. Miyagi’s shoulder. What did _that_ mean? 

“Well, you gotta go,” Daniel said, as if it was that simple. “You gotta go see him.”

Mr. Miyagi nodded but didn’t say anything else, and the postman seemed to realize that he was being intrusive and ducked away, back to his idling car. Johnny waited until he was out of the gate and followed him, carrying his shoes because he didn’t want to stick around long enough to put them back on.

***

He spent the early part of the afternoon in the garden with his mother, staring at the beds of flowers as she meticulously puttered in between the blooms, her hair shining in the sun, her voice soothing. Still, he didn’t feel soothed. He felt jittery, like he was full of energy he couldn’t focus into one particular activity, and let his eyes glaze over while he bounced his foot up and down on the grass. 

“Phone call for you,” one of his step-dad’s staff, a new woman whose name Johnny hadn’t learned yet, passed him the landline, and he had to jog inside to answer it. 

“Yeah?” he asked. It had to be Bobby, calling to try to convince Johnny to speak to Dutch again in sentences longer than two words. It was his every-other-day ritual at this point. 

Daniel LaRusso’s voice came over the line. “Lawrence.” 

“LaRusso,” he replied, surprised. “What do you want?” 

“It’s not what I _want_ ,” he sighed into the receiver. Johnny pulled the phone away from his ear at the sound, grimacing. “I need a favor.” 

***

“You’re going to spend _all of your college money_ on a plane ticket to Okinawa?” Johnny asked, hands tense around the steering wheel of his car. When Daniel called him for a ride, citing his sore knee, Johnny knew immediately he would do it. It was his fault that Daniel had a bum knee in the first place, after all. 

“There’s a guy there who wanted to _kill him_ ,” Daniel said in exasperation. “He needs back up.” 

“You couldn’t even drive yourself to buy the ticket –”

“Shut the hell up, Johnny –”

“I’m just saying, if you’re trying to protect him, you’re just making sure he has one more person to protect,” Johnny said. “You can’t protect him.” 

“There’s no one else,” Daniel argued. “He’s….he’s –”

“He’s family,” Johnny finished for him. “But you’re a liability.” 

“Forget this,” Daniel said, shifting in his seat like he could just launch himself out of a moving vehicle. “This was a mistake.” 

“Well, we have another fifteen minutes before we get there so you might as well deal with it,” Johnny shot back, reaching for the radio if only just to shut him up. Pat Benatar was on.

_Hit me with your best shot._

“It’ll be fine,” Daniel muttered, pulling the seat belt away from his chest and letting it fall back against him, a soothing _zip-zip_ sound that somehow managed to fit with the beat of the song. “I’m going for support.” 

“Did you tell him that?” Johnny asked, even though he knew the answer. If he had, he wouldn’t need Johnny to give him a ride. 

Daniel pursed his lips and didn’t answer. 

“Right,” Johnny said, mostly to himself. “I guess you better hope Mr. Miyagi is exaggerating about the whole _wanting to kill him_ thing.” 

“He doesn’t exaggerate,” Daniel said, like he didn’t understand the statement. 

They rode the rest of the way in silence, Johnny lost in thoughts that didn’t really make sense, fragments of warnings and advice and insults that kept shuffling themselves around, like a magician’s quick fingers before a trick. He couldn’t get them to stop long enough to put them together, like a Mad Libs page, so he just didn’t say anything. 

Daniel forced the door open at the airport like he was still angry and stumbled out, holding onto the body of the car like he needed his crutch. 

God dammit. 

Johnny turned off the car and got out, offering Daniel his arm like he used to do for Ali. Daniel glared at it, like the limb personally offended him, and pushed off from the car, ignoring Johnny’s arm. He made it another two steps before his knee buckled, and Johnny had to lunge forward to keep him upright. 

“Just take my arm, you asshole,” he grumbled. 

“Like hell,” Daniel snapped back, but his hand was so tight on Johnny’s forearm that his fingers were going white. His face was pale. 

“Is Mr. Miyagi gonna have to do this for you in Okinawa the whole time? Because that might make the whole support and protect thing a little difficult for you,” Johnny said.

“Johnny seriously, shut up,” Daniel ground out, teeth clenched.

“You need to take a day off your feet, LaRusso,” Johnny continued, because now he was even more nervous for some reason, and his mouth was trying to personally sink him. “Where’s your crutch?” 

He could practically hear Daniel’s teeth grinding. “I don’t need it.” 

He scoffed. “Clearly not.” 

Daniel jerked his hand away from his arm, angry and over-correcting, like he fought, all flailing long limbs and very little awareness, and Johnny just waited, patiently, for his arm to come back around before he took him by the crook of Daniel’s elbow. It certainly wasn’t friendly – it probably looked threatening to anyone watching, but it had the desired effect of keeping the stubborn little shit upright. 

He escorted Daniel in silence to the counter and left him there, backing up a few steps to give him privacy. Still, he listened while his brain moved on, trying to sift through his thoughts, trying to decide which ones to keep and which ones to throw out. 

But the one he couldn’t throw out, no matter how many times he tried, was the undeniable knowledge that Daniel was going to get hurt if he went to Okinawa and things were as bad as he claimed. Daniel LaRusso was prone to exaggeration, to hyperbole even, but Mr. Miyagi was not. And if Mr. Miyagi had convinced him that things were dangerous, then they were definitely too dangerous for a gangly kid with a bad knee. 

A bad knee that he ruined. 

One of the things Mr. Miyagi told him after Johnny finished his rambling explanation that day in his house was that Johnny couldn’t carry the guilt forever. He needed to let it go, and in letting it go, he would give himself the freedom to make amends and heal that guilt. 

Or something like that, with that soft wisdom of his. 

He sighed and fumbled with his wallet in his back pocket, always halfway out of his pants when he drove, and when Daniel stepped aside, he moved up and said – 

“Yeah, another one of what he got.” 

***

Johnny expected Daniel to pitch the mother of all fits when he stepped up to the counter. What he didn’t expect was the stunned silence that Daniel fell into, his eyes on the side of Johnny’s face while he ordered his own damn plane ticket, slapping Sid’s American Express card on the counter. He never even checked the damn card anyway, he’d never know. And if he did, well, then Johnny would be in Okinawa by then. 

He was still standing there, one foot hovering off the floor, when Johnny folded up his own plane ticket and turned to him, blinking once before taking Johnny’s arm. 

He didn’t say anything until they got into the car. 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” he asked quietly. “You don’t – you can’t –”

So it wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to argue about, Johnny thought darkly. He just hadn’t found the words yet. He almost rolled his eyes. 

“Consider me your bodyguard,” he said flippantly, because he knew it would piss him off. 

And _boy_ did it. “I don’t need your –” he wrestled with the seatbelt, “your goddamn protection. Geez, that’s rich, protection from Johnny ‘Cobra Kai’ Lawrence, the guy who crippled me in the first place –”

“I didn’t cripple you –”

“Yeah, not permanently,” Daniel continued, heatedly. “This – this is an important trip for Mr. Miyagi –”

“I’m trying to keep him from having to carry you around the whole damn time, LaRusso,” he snapped. “So you can hate me all you want, but I’m going. Get over it.” 

“You’re not going.” 

“Yeah, you gonna stop me?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road to look over at him, face flushed red with anger, hand trembling on top of his bad knee. It was that hand that forced Johnny to put his eyes back on the road. 

Maybe he should have told him what he told Mr. Miyagi. 

_I just want him to know that I’m sorry._

_So say sorry._

_It’s not enough to say it. I gotta show it._

_Okay, show then._


	3. Chapter 3

Johnny didn’t own a suitcase – when he and his mother moved around constantly in his childhood, she always packed his clothes in the same bag as her own. They didn’t have much to begin with, so a second bag just seemed excessive. Now, with an international plane ticket in one hand and his passport in the other, one year from being expired from that time his mom took them to Mexico for two months, he was at a loss. 

He found his mom in the master bedroom, sitting on the little ottoman that sat at the foot of the California King-sized bed, painting her toenails. 

“Mom, I need a suitcase,” he said, just loud enough to get her attention without startling her. Still, she looked up from her toes with wide eyes. “Can I borrow yours?” 

“There’s a whole set in the closet, baby,” she said. “You want the Tumi set?” 

He shook his head. “I was just thinking…that old orange one from…” 

“From Arizona?” she asked, smiling. “I don’t know if we still have it, but you’re welcome to look.” 

He nodded and padded into the huge walk-in closet, trying not to look too hard at the designer clothes, bags, and shoes that filled every corner to bursting. These clothes weren’t his mother’s – they didn’t feel authentic or real. He half-thought his hand would pass straight through them when he reached out to touch the end of a silk blouse. When his hand met material, he jerked away like he’d been stung. 

He felt rather than heard his mom come to the doorway to watch him search. 

“Where are you going that you need a suitcase?” she asked, gentle even in this question. 

“Okinawa,” he said shortly. “My…friend is going and needs me to help him get around.” 

“Your friend?” his mother asked. “Which one?” 

“None of them,” Johnny replied. “A different friend. He’s…got a bad knee.” 

Laura sighed. “Oh, that one,” she said. “Did he buy you the ticket?” 

Johnny found the orange suitcase, in the back corner, underneath a bunch of old pumps. He reached for it, trying to dislodge it without too much effort. “No,” he grunted. “I used Sid’s card.” 

“Johnny –”

“Like it isn’t limitless anyway,” he interrupted, turning to plant his feet, the way Kreese taught him when he was facing a fight. He noticed and visibly shifted, trying to find a way to project strength without thinking of his old mentor. 

“He’ll still find out –”

“And by then I’ll be gone,” he said flatly. “And when I get back, he’ll have forgotten about it. He’ll have bought a new yacht or something ridiculous –” The sound of the front door opening and slamming shut silenced them both, Johnny listening with wide eyes and a firm hand around the handle of the old suitcase. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. When he looked up, his mother was watching him, her face paler than it was before.

“ _Where’s that kid_?” 

Johnny tightened his grip on the suitcase and strode past his mother, who stayed, leaning against the closet door, nail polish in her hand, while Johnny went downstairs. 

Sometimes, he wondered if one day he would resent her for staying upstairs when she knew what was happening on the ground floor. Right now, he didn’t blame her – he still remembered, all too clearly, how hard their life had been before Sid’s money. He understood that they had to make sacrifices to be comfortable, even if it meant this. 

When the argument was over, Johnny shoved clothes into the suitcase, remembering the trips that the suitcase had been on, how trusty it had been, his pillow in the back of the car, his booster seat when they ate bologna in the dirty motel rooms, the place he stuffed his favorite toy when he didn’t want to lose it. Now it would be trusty for him again. 

He didn’t stay in the house – not with the cut fresh on his cheekbone and his mother’s cagey silence. He gave her a kiss on top of her head and muttered something about an early flight and left before dinner. 

He sat in the driveway of Mr. Miyagi’s house and didn’t get out of the car. He knew that Daniel was in there, with Mr. Miyagi, probably helping him cook dinner and trim the little trees. He couldn’t bring himself to ruin it, not when he was already ruining Daniel’s perfect little trip to Okinawa. So he sat in the car, watching the silhouettes behind the curtains, and drifted off to sleep wondering what it would be like to be on the other side of the curtains for a change. 

***

Daniel noticed the red car when the fog was still heavy on the ground, a misty dreamlike state that made the whole thing feel fake. He padded over, in socks but no shoes, limping, and peered in the window, expecting to wake up any moment. Surely this was a weird, liminal dream that would hang solidly around his shoulders for the rest of the day. But no, when he looked through the window, he saw Johnny Lawrence asleep in the driver’s seat, head hung low, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He _had_ to be cold. 

He tapped on the window, deciding to be quiet rather than startling the man awake. Still, Johnny jerked into consciousness, graceless and haphazard, and looked around before he caught sight of Daniel at the window. A grimace danced over his face, but Daniel couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or something else.

He pushed open the driver’s side door and stepped out, and Daniel could see crusted blood on the side of his face. 

“What the hell?” he asked.

“Be more specific,” Johnny muttered, wiping the sleep from his eyes and wincing when his hand got too close to the cut. 

“Why didn’t you come inside?” Daniel asked, watching as Johnny pulled a beat-up orange suitcase out of the back seat. Johnny gave him a shrug that he supposed was an answer. “What happened to your face?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said dismissively, but it was puffy, like the cut would morph into a bruise, and Daniel remembered how much those hurt, even if the person wearing it was too tough to notice. 

He stood there in his socks, confused, staring down at the ground. He was still pissed at Johnny for buying a plane ticket in the first place, never mind his bullshit reasoning. But Johnny didn’t seem too smug about it now – in fact, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

He hobbled after him, trying not to notice how Johnny stopped walking and waited for him when he heard his uneven footsteps. 

“Want some coffee?” he asked. 

Johnny’s gaze lingered on the side of his face like he couldn’t quite decide if Daniel was serious or not. Daniel took out an extra mug and didn’t wait for the answer, if there was going to be one. He poured Johnny coffee anyway, pushing the sugar bowl and a carton of milk in his direction. He watched Johnny tentatively take it, noting that neither of his hands were marked. So, whoever hit him did not get a hit in return. 

“Good morning, Johnny-san,” Miyagi said placidly, stepping silently into the room and grabbing the tea kettle. 

“Morning, Mr. Miyagi,” Johnny said, turning his head so the cut on his cheek wasn’t visible. Daniel wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, Mr. Miyagi would clock that wound in less than ten seconds no matter how he tried to hide it, but it wasn’t worth it. 

“Cab come in one hour,” Mr. Miyagi said, looking between the two boys. “Here, Johnny-san,” he held out a handkerchief, damp with warm water. “For face.” 

“Oh,” Johnny looked sheepish for the first time, and Daniel had to turn away to hide his grin. “Thank you, Mr. Miyagi.” Daniel turned back to see him gently push it onto the wound, trying valiantly not to let the pain show in his face. He almost rolled his eyes. 

The cab ride was quiet, Daniel stuck in the middle, with Johnny on one side, his cut cheek angled toward the window, his thigh pressed against Daniel’s, Mr. Miyagi on the other, looking down at all of their tickets, which he insisted on holding, during the whole ride. Daniel hated the quiet – it always made him want to talk. It was one of the constants of the universe, his need to talk. He wondered if Johnny could feel the anxious energy building inside him; less than ten minutes into the cab ride, Johnny’s leg started bouncing an uneven rhythm into the floor, jostling Daniel’s entire body.

“Why are you doing that?” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. Johnny blinked and looked over to him, his eyes distant like he just returned from somewhere else. “The leg.” 

Johnny looked down at his bouncing leg and put his own hand over it, like the muscles were working of their own accord. The moment it stopped, Daniel felt the absence of the movement, and wished it would start up again. 

He didn’t understand it. 

The airport was loud, loud enough that Daniel didn’t feel the need to talk anymore. He followed Mr. Miyagi, who was moving faster than normal, trying to keep up. His knee didn’t hurt as much anymore, but he still wasn’t up to dodging crowds at a high speed. More than once, Johnny caught him under the arm to keep him steady, just at the moment when Daniel felt his balance wavering. 

He didn’t know how he knew, but he also didn’t want to ask. 

***

Johnny had never been on a plane. His travels were always strictly in a run-down, rattling car with his mother. He hadn’t thought about it until he was in line, ready to board, but surely flying wouldn’t be bad, right? He would sit down, they would take off, and the next day, they’d be in Okinawa. It was just like falling asleep in the car while his mom drove them to Nevada. 

Except the seats were close together, and people were always wheezing and coughing and kicking their feet into the back of his seat, and if he had to spend the next twelve or so hours with his leg plastered to LaRusso’s, he was probably going to explode. 

Mr. Miyagi was the picture of calm, as he usually was, and even LaRusso didn’t seem bothered – he had a thick book called _The History of Okinawa_ on his lap. Johnny wanted to call him a kiss ass, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get away with it, so he said nothing instead.

“What’s wrong with you?” Daniel asked, peering over at him with his eyes narrowed. 

Johnny narrowed his eyes back. “Who says there’s something wrong with me?” 

“I do, Lawrence,” Daniel said. “You’re weirdly quiet. Are you gonna tell me why you were asleep in your car this morning?” 

“Mind your business,” Johnny snapped. He put his hands over the arm rests at the sound of the engines firing up. The loud slam of the plane’s doors closing sent a shiver through him, and he felt his hands tightening on the edge of the arm rests, so tight the sharp corners dug into his skin. 

“You gonna pass out on me or something?” Daniel asked, and Johnny almost said something mean, but when he opened his eyes (when had he closed his eyes?) Daniel was looking at him with genuine concern. “Come on, man, breathe.” 

“I am breathing,” Johnny said through gritted teeth as the plane lurched into motion. The rest of the plane was still going on as if nothing changed – babies still cried, people were still sneezing and kicking his seat. How was everyone else calm? It didn’t make sense. It felt like they were getting louder, like his boombox when the volume knob got broken. 

It was hammering against his ear drums, a physical push that he didn’t know how to stop. He could feel Daniel’s worried gaze on the side of his face.

“You’re really pale,” Daniel pointed out, as if Johnny couldn’t _feel_ the blood leaving his own face. “Come on, Lawrence, you’ve done kata, in through your nose, out through your mouth, with me.” 

“Leave me alone, LaRusso,” he sneered. 

Daniel’s hand landed on his forearm, steady and sobering. “Quit being a dick and breathe.” He took an exaggerated breath through his nose, raising his eyebrows at Johnny to follow. The plane was picking up speed, and Johnny felt the first lurches of vertigo as the wheels lifted off. “Focus,” Daniel’s voice came through clear where everything else was muffled. “Breathe.” 

_Breathe._

***

Johnny didn’t release his grip on the arm rests until the plane was leveled out in the air, his eardrums popping loudly in his skull. Daniel was still watching him carefully out of the corner of his eye, but he’d stopped touching him and trying to get him to breathe, so that was, at least, a good development. He’d opened up that book and was reading intently, even if his eyes would dart up and take in the side of Johnny’s face every couple of pages. Mr. Miyagi had fallen asleep before the plane took off. Johnny had his portable tape player out, his headphones on. The music was almost completely drowned out by the sound of the engines. 

Still, he lost himself in the mixtape he’d made his senior year, songs that he used to train and go running. They were so familiar to him that he could just stare off into space and think about nothing because nothing on this tape would surprise him. 

When he looked up at the end of the tape, Daniel was asleep, his hand slipping off the page of his book. 

Carefully, Johnny reached over and pulled the book into his lap. He made sure the bookmark was in the correct place and closed it. He held it in his lap for a few minutes, not quite sure what to do with it now. He didn’t want to jostle LaRusso awake, he certainly didn’t want to get up yet. He wasn’t sure he could handle the embarrassment of toppling over in front of an entire plane. 

So he opened the book and started reading.

***

Daniel didn’t know how long he slept – it felt like he had just closed his eyes, and then he was opening them again, and the plane was mostly dark, little blotches of light in the distance where people were reading, one still lit above his head. 

“Saved you this,” Johnny muttered quietly, pushing a little box toward him. It was a prepared meal – so he slept through their dinner. “Figured you’d be hungry.” 

He was reading _The History of Okinawa,_ his open page perilously close to Daniel’s bookmark. 

“Thanks,” Daniel murmured, peeling the plastic bin open. It was just a sandwich and a wilted cookie, but he ate it in big bites anyway, watching Johnny out of the corner of his eye. “So…” 

“So…” Johnny repeated. He closed the book and looked over at him, more completely. “Do you wanna get up, move your knee?” 

“In a bit,” Daniel waved him off. “I want to talk about that cut on your face.” 

Johnny huffed and looked away, opening the book again. “You’re not gonna let up on it, are you?” 

“Probably not,” Daniel shrugged. “Might as well tell me, then.” 

Johnny didn’t look up from the book. “My step-dad found out I was going to Okinawa,” he said flatly. “I didn’t exactly…ask permission.” 

“So he _hit you_?” Daniel said loudly. Johnny glared at him, sharply enough that he felt the urge to add. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“It’s fine,” Johnny said dryly. “Just don’t wake up Mr. Miyagi.” 

Daniel stared at his profile, a new puzzle with no straight edges to start creating a sensible picture. “He do that to you a lot?” 

“This conversation is not happening, LaRusso,” Johnny muttered, but Daniel could see the way he grimaced. “Here, take your book.” 

He shoved the book over onto Daniel’s lap, or at least, he looked like he was shoving it, but he passed it over relatively gently, putting a scrap piece of paper in it to mark his page. 

“Okay,” Daniel said quietly. 

He watched Johnny settle into the chair and close his eyes like he could luck into sleep with just determination and stubbornness. After a few minutes of watching him, Daniel opened up the book and kept reading. He made it through two more chapters before he closed the book, content that he had a significant lead on Johnny’s little receipt bookmark. 

It seemed like Johnny had managed to fall asleep, no matter how contrived his reasoning was. Daniel took a moment to study him, really taking in the facial features that he knew by association but not from his own eyes. He never felt comfortable looking at Johnny for too long – when they were in high school he didn’t want Johnny to notice him looking. He gleaned most of his information from a series of short glances, spaced out so he couldn’t be accused of staring. 

Now, he stared. At the cleft in Johnny’s chin, at the darker hair he had at the roots that the sun hadn’t managed to bleach yet, at the cut on his face that was well on its way to becoming a bruise, dark and angry. 

Tentatively, he reached out to touch it, finger just barely brushing over the scabbed skin before he took his hand back like he’d burned it. 

He didn’t know why he did it, only that it felt right at the time and it felt terribly wrong now. 

***

Johnny dreamed of the future – one he didn’t recognize, but one he managed to live in all the same. He was standing in a backyard that looked a lot like Mr. Miyagi’s, but the plants were different, and the fence around the place was higher, darker, had vines growing on it. He was holding a cold bottle of beer in his hand, and there were people. 

That was the most surprising of all, he supposed, the people. He didn’t know them, not really, when he looked closer. But he had the feeling that they were all his friends. He tried to count them and lost the number and had to start again. There was a happy feeling in his chest he didn’t know how to process – he’d never had that many friends before, or the sure knowledge that they were his friends at all. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice caught his attention and he turned to find Daniel LaRusso, in his blue prom tux, holding a glass of champagne. He wondered why he was holding it. “Are you going to stand out here and talk to no one all night?” 

“Maybe,” he said, the word coming out playfully. “If I want.” 

Daniel looked him over appreciatively, a smile taking over his face. Johnny didn’t know what to do with that – he’d never really seen a real smile on LaRusso’s face before, not pointed in his direction. “Want me to keep you company?” 

His knee-jerk reaction was to ask why the hell LaRusso was asking such a stupid question, because they didn’t spend time together, not on purpose, but then his mouth opened and said “Of course.” 

He looked down and saw his prom tux, burgundy with a black collar, and looked up again, trying to recognize the faces of the people around the yard. Still, they were strangers. 

Daniel stepped closer and took Johnny’s arm and put it around his own shoulders, like it was easy, like it was something they did, and Johnny just let it happen. He tugged Daniel closer, enjoying the way he fit, just under his arm, head on Johnny’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” he said again, and Johnny looked down to find Daniel looking up at him, in his blue and pink shirt from the airport, brow furrowed, hand extended toward Johnny’s cheek. 

He woke with a jolt, strong enough that Daniel, beside him, still reading his stupid book, looked up at him in concern. 

“Morning,” he said. “You woke up just in time, we just landed.” He passed a little Styrofoam cup of coffee over to him. “Figured you’d need it.” 

Gone was the way he looked at Johnny in the dream, like he knew him, like they were…something different. Johnny took the cup, warm to the touch, and sipped. Milk and sugar, the way he liked it. 

“Thanks,” he said. Daniel looked over at him and blinked, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Really.” 

“No problem,” he said blithely, and then the passengers were standing up and grabbing their bags, and Johnny followed Daniel and Mr. Miyagi in a haze, still wading through the dream and the reality. Mr. Miyagi handed him his suitcase, patting him on the back on his way past, and just like that, they were in Okinawa. 

“Hey,” Daniel’s voice shook Johnny out of his reverie. He looked up and Daniel was looking back at him, almost irritated instead of adoring, like he had been in the dream. “You gonna stand out here all day?” 

“Maybe,” Johnny said playfully, and he watched Daniel blink in surprise. “If I want, LaRusso.”


	4. Chapter 4

The airport at Okinawa was tiny, so small that Johnny’s relative claustrophobia that had acted up on the plane didn’t really abate when they got off. The walls of the airport were all visible at once, pieces of cardboard that might as well be inching closer every time he took his eyes off of them. He watched them warily, tracking their non-movements, following behind Mr. Miyagi but staying stubbornly beside LaRusso. 

LaRusso, who had slipped beneath his arm so easily in the dream, like it was a habit, who had looked up at him with a smile, his crooked front teeth just barely poking out, young and fiery and somehow soft at the same time. Now, he was studying the side of Johnny’s face like it insulted him, a pinch in his brow that was far more familiar than a smile. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked when they picked up their bags from a single, jerky carousel, Johnny’s orange suitcase a beacon that helped them find the other two. 

“I’ve been fine, LaRusso, I keep tellin’ you,” he muttered, hoisting both his and Daniel’s suitcases in his hands. 

“Give it to me,” LaRusso wiggled his fingers for it, pointing at his suitcase. Johnny was just starting to notice that Daniel hadn’t bothered to bring any sort of crutch or cane with him – he was just wearing a knee brace, flexible and probably too amenable for his knee, a knee that still needed a firm hand. 

“No thanks, I got it,” he said, and caught Mr. Miyagi looking back at him, one eyebrow raised. “Get moving, tiny.” 

“I’m not tiny,” he huffed, but he moved forward anyway, his limp less pronounced than Johnny remembered it. “And I can carry my own bag.” 

“Here,” Johnny conceded, passing over his own orange suitcase, which he knew was lighter than Daniel’s. 

And Daniel took it without argument because what was he going to say, anyway? That he didn’t trust Johnny to carry his luggage? That he was too good to carry Johnny’s ratty little suitcase? No, he was too proud for that, even if the thought was all over his prissy little face. He just kept on, the suitcase bouncing against his good knee with every step, still watching Johnny from the corner of his eye. 

“How are we going to get to the village from here, Mr. Miyagi?” he asked when they were walking toward the doors that led outside, the air humid and thick but warm, a pleasant change from the weirdly cold plane. 

“Take taxi,” the old man said simply.

“Hey, Mr. Miyagi, is that him?” Daniel asked before they could get all the way out, pointing at a sign. A man in a karate gi was breaking a huge board, concentration all over his face, threatening and impressive. 

“Is who him?” Johnny asked as Mr. Miyagi studied the sign. 

“Hai,” Mr. Miyagi said. 

“Can you break a board like that?” Daniel asked, ignoring Johnny. They stepped closer toward the tempting warmth of the outside air. 

“Don’t know,” Mr. Miyagi shrugged. “Never been attacked by tree.” 

“Is _who_ him?” Johnny asked again, this time insistently. Daniel paused while Mr. Miyagi walked forward to find a taxi. 

“That’s the guy who said he’d kill Mr. Miyagi,” Daniel muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “For his honor.” 

Johnny understood. “That’s stupid,” he said out loud, because Daniel clearly wanted him to say it. 

“Yeah, it is,” Daniel agreed vehemently. “All over a girl.” 

They both paused, as if reminded who they were. Johnny chuckled first, patting Daniel on the shoulder. Daniel looked up at him like he was going to say something, his bottom lip caught in his teeth, and instead someone else spoke. 

“It is an honor, I am Chozen Toguchi,” a young man with gold chains around his neck was looking at them all briefly before turning his eyes back to Miyagi. “Yukie-san say she sorry she cannot meet you herself.” 

“Yukie,” Daniel mouthed at Johnny. “The woman.” 

Johnny swatted him on the arm. 

“I have a car waiting.” 

Before Johnny could say anything else, they were all following Chozen to a slick black car, Chozen moving with a grace of an athlete, of a fighter. If Miyagi was worried about what would happen if he came back to Okinawa, shouldn’t this Chozen guy be more of a red flag? Could this be the beginning of whatever weird blood feud was going on on this little island? 

Or was that too paranoid? Johnny couldn’t tell, so he said nothing. He piled into the car, making sure that Daniel was on the end so he couldn’t get jostled too much. 

***

Daniel wondered if Johnny just got nervous in cars – he could feel the tension in his body, a line of thrumming energy on his left, his blue eyes fixed on the foliage outside. He was listening intently, Daniel could tell without question, but he was refusing to join in. 

The conversation was a flurry of awkward introductions, Chozen asking Daniel about his and Johnny’s training. Daniel didn’t mention Kreese, or Cobra Kai. No, Mr. Miyagi was _their_ sensei, he thought firmly, though he was convinced of the exact opposite a week ago. 

“How you know I be here today?” Mr. Miyagi finally asked, and Johnny turned away from the window to listen to the answer, his blue eyes hard. Daniel furrowed his brows at him, but Johnny didn’t look away from Chozen’s profile. 

“Okinawa very small place,” Chozen said enigmatically, and Daniel blinked. 

Beside him, Johnny’s hand tightened into a fist. Their eyes met, Johnny closed off and far away, deep in some form of concentration that seemed fundamentally more violent than meditation. Daniel swallowed, fear rising like an instinctual tidal wave in him. He hadn’t seen that face in a long time. 

“Village south,” Mr. Miyagi continued, and Johnny tore his eyes away from Daniel to look over at him. “Why we go north?” 

Johnny’s mouth twitched, Daniel caught the jerk from where he was still studying him, trying to puzzle him out. He pursed his lips and the foot closest to Daniel started tapping. Daniel put a hand over it and squeezed, just enough to make him go still. 

“Some things have changed since you go, Miyagi-san,” Chozen said, and in a few moments they were pulling off the road and into what looked like a warehouse, Chozen sliding gracefully out of the car. 

“Stay behind me,” Johnny demanded as Chozen demanded that they leave the car. “Promise me.” 

“Screw you, Johnny, I’m no coward.” 

“He’s a pro, you idiot, stay _behind me_ ,” Johnny shoved past him to stand almost completely in front of him, blocking Daniel from Chozen’s view. Daniel didn’t understand what he was saying, or what he wasn’t saying. What had Johnny learned that he hadn’t figured out yet? 

“What’s going on?” he finally asked, and Chozen turned his burning gaze to him. 

“No talking,” he snapped. Then he turned to a man, his face cloaked in shadow, and bowed. “Uncle.” 

“ _Uncle_ ,” Johnny repeated under his breath, like it was confirming something, but what the fuck had Johnny figured out? Daniel was lost, so lost he felt like he’d been spun around before he’d been let out of the car. And then the light fell on the man’s face, stony and inscrutable, and Daniel realized. 

Johnny caught him before he could move forward, before he could get out from behind him, and held him in place, his hand a vice on Daniel’s upper arm. He tried to squirm free, but Johnny was relentless, watching everything about Sato, from the way he stood to the way Chozen deferred to him. 

“So, you return, coward.” 

“To settle affairs with Father,” Miyagi said, calm as ever. 

“And with me,” Sato challenged, taking a step forward. Johnny tried to mirror him, to stand beside Miyagi, but Chozen’s gaze swiveled over to him and Daniel was stopping him, grabbing him by the arm and almost toppling himself over with the force of it, and Johnny had to stop, had to hold him up so he could get his balance back. 

He watched Chozen look down at his knee and cursed inwardly, holding tightly to Johnny, trying to get him to understand, to look at Chozen, to see where he was looking, and what that meant. 

Johnny looked down at him, the hardness still in his eyes. 

“You okay?” he said softly out of the corner of his mouth. 

He gave him a stiff nod and released him. 

“You see your father,” Sato was saying, as if they couldn’t still hear the echo of his challenge: _then you die as you have lived: a coward._ “Then you see me.” 

***

Johnny’s arm burned from Daniel’s hand, a residual reminder of his touch, irritating and all-consuming. The car ride to Tomi Village was painfully silent, Daniel sitting stubbornly beside Mr. Miyagi, refusing Johnny’s suggestion that he sit by the window. The result was bumping Daniel’s bad knee on every pothole, and after a while, Johnny just curled in on himself as much as he could by the window just to save Daniel the trouble. 

How had no one seen what was about to happen? Why had they allowed themselves to get into a situation where they were so powerless? Even now, they were relying on this unknown taxi to take them to the village, something Mr. Miyagi quietly assured Johnny would happen, as if Chozen’s detour and threat had been immediately wiped away. 

The village was tiny, something out of a history book, or an old movie that Johnny generally thought was too boring to watch all the way through, almost eclipsed by an Air Base. But there was a passiveness that he found comforting, in the way people kneeled in their gardens and worked the ground reverently, like they respected it. The wind coming off the ocean was light and salty, and he felt, in every breeze, California. 

He offered Daniel his hand getting out of the car, and was pleasantly surprised when Daniel took it, his forehead furrowed like he was in pain. Johnny kept hold of him until he was standing up completely, steady and impatient to get going. Still, when he let go, Daniel looked back at him like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, and he felt that irritating swoop in his stomach, the same thing he felt when the Ferris Wheel jolted just a little too much. 

Fear, and anticipation. 

He stood outside a little house while Mr. Miyagi went inside to see his father, a prone figure lying on a mat piled with cushions and blankets on the ground, Daniel hovering beside him, a ball of anxious energy that made Johnny feel like he’d had one too many coffees. 

Yukie was quiet, and kind, and Johnny didn’t expect anything else. She gave him a soft smile when they introduced themselves and bowed her head at him. He didn’t have to know her to see how tender of a person she was, all gentleness. He understood, almost instantly, why Mr. Miyagi loved her. 

Kumiko was quiet too, but Johnny knew she wasn’t, really. She had a light in her eyes that reminded him a little of Daniel, an untapped well of strength. She sat with them both outside the house, where Johnny could barely hear Mr. Miyagi and Yukie’s hushed voices. Every now and then, he’d look back, just to see if anything had changed, and then he looked back and caught Daniel smiling up at Kumiko. 

Like he knew her already. 

He looked away, down to the ground. What was he looking away for, anyway? They were just talking, like people do. Except he could feel a pit of something in his stomach, burning like acid, ignoring all of his rationalizations, all of his logical explanations. He knew that feeling – he was familiar with it. He hadn’t felt it since he looked up from his dirt bike and saw Daniel LaRusso talking to Ali on the beach. 

He swallowed it down and looked out at the darkening village, offering his voice to the conversation only sparingly. He caught Daniel’s questioning glance but looked away from it. 

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

***

Johnny’s dreams always started in the middle – the middle of a kick, the middle of running away, the middle of something. It was like his brain didn’t see the merit in the build-up of anything. Get to the excitement, it seemed to be saying. Fuck the rest. 

This time, they were standing in the warehouse again, Chozen standing across from himself and Daniel. Chozen was standing next to someone else, another faceless person who stood the same way, with the same gold chain around his neck. Mr. Miyagi was gone. 

The dream began as Johnny was swinging his fist – Chozen dodged and parried, knocking Johnny back a couple of steps. It had been a few days since he last trained, and he felt momentary regret that was immediately pushed back when the faceless Chozen clone lurched into mechanical movement, going after Daniel, who, Johnny could see, still had a brace on, even in the dream. 

They fought back-to-back, fighting off Chozen and his clone, not bothering to warn each other of their battle plan. They didn’t need to. It was only a matter of trusting each other, and that, they had in spades. 

More than once, Daniel caught him around the back of the shirt and pulled him out of the way, and Johnny had to pay him back by grabbing Chozen’s clone by the arm and shoving him away. Still, it seemed like they weren’t going to win, no matter how good they were at dodging and blocking. Chozen’s fists still landed more times than they missed, and Johnny was starting to lose his focus every time he heard Daniel’s cry of pain. 

And then he made a wrong move, stepped the wrong way, and Chozen had him around the neck, the same way Kreese held him in the parking lot. He was forced to watch as Chozen’s clone caught Daniel’s kick and drove his elbow into his bad knee. 

In the wake of Daniel’s fall, Chozen and his doppelganger disappeared, like smoke, and Johnny was able to crawl, gasping, to Daniel’s side. He could feel, suddenly, the bruises on his face, the blood dripping out of his mouth. 

Daniel was writhing on the ground, screaming, holding his knee, the same way he had been after Johnny had finished what Bobby started, and Johnny fell to the ground beside him, offering his hand, but for what, he didn’t know. Still, Daniel took it and held tightly, so tightly Johnny felt his knuckles pop. He pulled Daniel closer, so he was practically on his lap, and laid his other hand over Daniel’s knee. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Daniel looked up at him, tears slipping out of his eyes, down his temples and into his hair, and held his hand tighter. “I’m sorry.” It was important that he understand, that he hear him. 

“I know,” Daniel said, like it was obvious, and Johnny felt the fight go out of him. He sagged, dropping his forehead over Daniel’s, breathing like he’d been running. Daniel, below him, released his hand to touch his face. 

He could feel his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears, in the bruises on his face. When he opened his eyes, Daniel was looking up at him, one more tear sliding, effortlessly, from his eyes. Admiration and fear bowled him over in equal force. Johnny knew what came next. He leaned in –

“Dude, wake up,” Daniel’s voice came in like a bullhorn, and Johnny jumped, sitting up so fast he almost headbutted Daniel in the face. He stuck his hands out to steady him, and succeeded in only holding Daniel still, their faces inches apart. 

“Sorry,” he said, releasing him. 

Daniel laughed, an uneasy huff, but didn’t move away. “Having a nightmare or something?” 

“Something like that,” Johnny muttered. “Why –?”

“Training,” Daniel said simply, like it was obvious. “Come on, Mr. Miyagi is going to show us the original dojo he trained in.” 

He stood up, swaying only slightly, and Johnny watched him start to leave. 

“LaRusso,” he called. Daniel turned halfway back to him, his hair blowing in the wind coming through the open door. Johnny could see what looked like a halo shining around him. “Are we…friends now?” 

Daniel gave him a spectacularly unbothered shrug. “I guess we are,” he said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for character death and the trauma that comes with losing a parent. read safely, folks!

Johnny wondered if he’d ever get used to training with Mr. Miyagi. He had trained with Kreese for so long the expectations were always militaristic; he expected to be yelled at, expected to be punished, expected a lot of things that never came. So he felt like he was constantly on edge, watching the metaphorical shoe dangle but never fall. He followed Daniel to the Miyagi dojo, trying not to watch the way Daniel bounced excitedly when he walked, the way he was shaking his hands like they were full of static electricity, trying to forget his dream. 

He was used to having bad dreams. They happened to him a lot as a kid – the doctor he had to see for a yearly physical while he was training with Cobra Kai claimed that night terrors were probably caused by the physically demanding aspects of their poverty. He often went to sleep cold and had nightmares about freezing to death. He went to sleep hungry and had nightmares about being eaten or abandoned. 

But these dreams didn’t feel like the over-active imagination of a boy. These dreams felt like they were telling him something, and Johnny was determined not to look that lesson in the face. At least, not until he had to. 

“Ah, Daniel-san, Johnny-san,” Mr. Miyagi was already sweating, his own training close to finished. Daniel bowed to him, and Johnny followed. “Come in. Welcome to Miyagi family dojo.” 

The room was sparse, but something about the place felt reverent, like walking inside a church. Johnny took his eyes off his new sensei to take in the scrolls on the walls, the portraits between them. He felt, suddenly, a knot in his stomach. He shouldn’t be here. This was rich family history, something Mr. Miyagi shared with his surrogate son, not with him, some intruder.

“Wow, this is really something,” Daniel said quietly, his Jersey accent bouncing harshly off the walls. Johnny fought a smile at the almost comforting sound of his voice. “Who are these guys?” 

“All Miyagi ancestor,” a small hand on Johnny’s back guided him to the same wall Daniel was already standing at. “Four hundred year worth.” 

“And who is that?” Johnny pointed to a drawn portrait at the beginning, older than the rest. Mr. Miyagi looked up at it with a smile.

“That is Miyagi Shimpo Sensei,” he said. “First Miyagi bring karate to Okinawa.” 

“The first?” Johnny asked.

“The one who went to China?” Daniel asked. Insecurity ricocheted through Johnny again at the sound of his voice. 

“Hai.” When Johnny tore his eyes away from the portrait, Mr. Miyagi was looking at him. 

“How did he get there?” Johnny asked. “By boat?”

“Ahh,” Miyagi laughed. “By accident. Like all Miyagi, Shimpo Sensei was fisherman. Love fishing. Love sake.” 

Daniel huffed a laugh and came to stand next to Johnny. He could feel the heat of his shoulder on his arm. Self-consciously, he crossed his arms, succeeding in only pressing his bicep against the hard line of Daniel’s shoulder. 

“One day, strong wind, strong sun, strong sake, but no fish,” Mr. Miyagi continued. “Shimpo Sensei fell asleep off coast of Okinawa…and woke up off coast of China.” 

Daniel whistled under his breath, and Johnny looked down at him. He looked up and caught his gaze and smiled. Johnny felt his heart kick harder in his chest and looked away, back to Mr. Miyagi. 

“Ten year later, he come back with Chinese wife and two kids…and secret to Miyagi family karate.” He picked up a little trinket from the shelf, nothing more than a weathered baby’s rattle, and passed it to Daniel, who inspected it closely and passed it over to Johnny. 

“This is the secret to your family’s karate?” Daniel asked. Miyagi nodded once. “I don’t get it.” 

“Practice,” Miyagi said soothingly. “You will.” He carefully took the thing from Johnny’s hands and clapped once. “Come, we go to work.” 

“What are these things?” Johnny asked before he could stop himself. He pointed up at the tapestries, written in Japanese characters. 

Mr. Miyagi made a small _ahh_ sound under his breath and stepped up beside him. “These rules to Miyagi family karate. Rule number one: karate is for defense only.” 

Daniel leaned forward from his spot, his shoulder slipping from where it had been pressed, burning, into Johnny’s arm. “And what’s that one?” 

“Rule number two: first learn rule number one.” 

Daniel’s laughter brought a smile to Johnny’s face. 

“Come, come, we get to work,” Johnny took a step back. Clearly this place was sacred – Mr. Miyagi probably only meant for Daniel to train here. He was ready to slowly back out of the place, pretend he was never there, and then Daniel’s hand caught him around the elbow. 

“Where are you going?” he asked quietly, looking up at him like he suddenly accepted that Johnny was Mr. Miyagi’s other student, and he didn’t really understand it, not when Daniel had insisted only a few weeks ago that he was not going to be taught by his sensei, not now, not ever. 

“We work as three,” Mr. Miyagi said into the silence that followed. “I am lucky to have two students with honor. Now I must train them.” 

Johnny swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded.

***

They went walking around the village after training – Johnny and Daniel and Mr. Miyagi – Daniel buttoning up a pinkish red shirt up over his tank top that Johnny, for some reason, couldn’t take his eyes off of. So he spent his time looking around at the village instead of Daniel even though he could smell him, could feel his slightly sticky elbow brushing his with every swing of his over-articulated hands. The humidity was making it worse – every touch was a longer one, their ever-present almost-sweat sticking their skin together. He was pretty sure the entire island was going to melt him like his mom’s favorite candle before they left. 

“This place looks like the town that time forgot,” Daniel mused quietly. He was just barely limping now, the training leaving him a little sore no matter how he tried to deny it. Johnny watched his uneven steps closely. 

“If this is a fishing town, why is no one fishing?” Johnny asked. 

Mr. Miyagi sighed. “Yukie-san tell me, after war, Sato father bring in commercial fishing boat. Inside two year, all fish gone. All small boat gone.” 

Daniel made a noise of protest at the back of his throat and Johnny looked down at him. His face was flushed with the injustice of it all. He bit his lip and looked away before he could be caught. 

“Almost everything gone, except old cannery and lots of memories.” 

“It must be tough times,” Daniel said, more to Johnny than to Mr. Miyagi. “With all the fish gone.” 

Johnny nodded, catching Daniel around the arm when the road in front of them got uneven. Daniel didn’t protest, but laid his hand against Johnny’s forearm, using him for stability. 

“Very tough. Most people leave village for city, look for work. My father, some others, invent whole new economy. Go into vegetable business, save what was left of village.” Johnny tightened his jaw at the wistfulness in Mr. Miyagi’s voice. He could almost forget why they were here – what tragedy was probably waiting for them. And then, suddenly, there it was again.

“Everybody owns their own little farm?” Daniel asked. 

“Sato own. Village rent.” 

Johnny was reminded, suddenly, of Sid. 

“That’s a bummer,” Daniel was saying, but he had stopped walking and was looking toward a group of children. When he looked closer, Johnny could see Kumiko among them, crouching down to their height to fix their hands.

She looked up and waved at Daniel, a demure smile lighting up her face into something ethereal and beautiful. Mr. Miyagi was still talking, and Daniel replying, but Johnny felt the move of Daniel’s body when he waved back, felt the connection he was shut out of. 

He let go of Daniel’s arm and decided to wait until Daniel needed him to touch him again. 

***

Daniel was too busy thinking about Kumiko and Johnny to notice Sato’s imposing silhouette until it was too late. He was caught up in replaying his stupid wave and the way Johnny let go of him and stepped away, trying to figure out what it meant. It stood out as important, the connection between the two movements, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe Johnny liked Kumiko, thought she was pretty? Who wouldn’t? He was probably trying not to cause another conflict like the one with Ali. 

And then Sato was standing in front of him and he stumbled to a stop, reaching out his arm for Johnny’s and realizing belatedly that Johnny wasn’t there anymore – he was a few steps behind, looking at his feet. 

“You have seen Father?” Sato asked Mr. Miyagi, ignoring both of the teenagers. Mr. Miyagi gave him a mute nod. “Then we finish tonight.” For the first time, Daniel noticed Chozen standing beside and behind his uncle, arms crossed over his half-open shirt, gold chain sitting perfectly on his tanned chest. “I bring a nephew for witness.” 

“Then you and nephew both lose sleep tonight,” Mr. Miyagi said calmly. “I not be there.”

“Your teacher coward,” Chozen snapped, stepping forward to get into Daniel’s space, as if his age prevented him from saying it directly to Mr. Miyagi himself. 

“You leave me no choice,” Sato said, and Daniel saw, almost a half-second before it happened, Johnny decide to step in front. He launched himself away from Chozen to catch Johnny around both elbows and hold him back, feet planted firmly in the dirt. His knee was aching, like he’d moved it in a weird direction, but it didn’t matter. Johnny struggled against him, his back firmly against Daniel’s chest. Daniel tightened his hold and leaned his cheek on Johnny’s back. _Calm down_ , he tried to tell him without speaking. _You don’t have to prove yourself this way._

Yukie was coming down the steps, a worried look in her eyes, and Daniel felt dread seep into him. He knew what that look meant. He released Johnny, holding onto his wrist for a moment before releasing him completely and standing beside Mr. Miyagi. 

“Your father,” she said. 

“Shit,” he heard Johnny mutter under his breath. 

“He want you,” she turned toward Sato. “And you, too.”

***

Daniel was standing beside Johnny when Mr. Miyagi’s father died. He watched the old man pull Sato’s and Mr. Miyagi’s hands together and combine them before going painfully still. He heard Johnny’s sigh, watched his mouth sag down to one side, the way he noticed it did when he was trying not to show emotion. He was sad – that idea was a little weird, considering he didn’t really know Mr. Miyagi or his father, but he didn’t question it. And then Johnny seemed to struggle with himself – Daniel could see his hand clenching and unclenching – and then he put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder, as if comforting him.

Comforting Daniel, even though he was sad too. 

He looked up at him, and Johnny looked down, the wind blowing his hair, and there was something there, lingering in the blue depths of his ocean eyes, something Daniel could almost read. 

“Out of respect for my teacher...” Sato said, getting to his feet. “I give you three days to mourn.” Johnny scoffed under his breath. Daniel agreed, but watched Mr. Miyagi’s back carefully, waiting for a signal, a sign that would tell him what to do. “When finish, I come back. You prepare to join him.” 

And then he was sweeping out of the room, an imposing presence that seemed to take a rain cloud with him, and once he was gone, he watched Mr. Miyagi’s shoulders dip and Yukie put her hand on his shoulder. 

He felt an immovable heaviness in his chest, the same way that he felt when he thought about his dad. He hadn’t considered that this would make him think of his own father – he’d been too caught up in protecting Mr. Miyagi, in trying to figure out why Johnny insisted in coming. Now that it was here, it was too easy to see. 

That the hurt in his chest wasn’t going to abate. 

He found Mr. Miyagi a while later sitting on the beach, watching the waves. The man was usually still, a hidden power that Daniel could never understand or possess, a centeredness of self that spoke to an understanding of his entire self, a serenity. He didn’t have that same serenity now, even if his body was still. 

Daniel considered leaving him there, alone, but how many times had Mr. Miyagi helped him? How many times had he taken him through a dark cloud that Daniel thought he couldn’t navigate, even with help? It was only right that he help him now. 

So he sat beside him, feeling the warm breeze off the ocean, and let the silence hold. Sometimes, things didn’t need to be said. He struggled with that knowledge all the time, but he felt that lesson was important now. 

And then he saw a tear roll down Mr. Miyagi’s cheek, and he was speaking before he could stop himself. 

“You know,” he said, looking out at the ocean, at the calming rhythm of the ocean inhaling and exhaling, filling lungs and emptying them, “When my father died...” and there was the tightness in his chest, oppressive and lingering. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to make this moment about him. “I spent a lot of time thinking I wasn't such a great son.” 

He looked over at Mr. Miyagi. He hadn’t moved, but Daniel could tell he was listening. He remembered ignoring his father when he wanted to play catch in the alley, asking him if they could just do it tomorrow because he was going to go play with his friends today. Remembered how he could picture every single one of those instances the moment he realized his father was going to die. 

A list of times he threw away seconds, minutes, hours with the man he would kill to see now. 

“Like maybe I could have listened more, spent more time with him together.” 

He remembered sitting in the chair beside the hospital bed with his father for hours, reading books out loud, telling him about the Mets game, waving off his mom when she asked him if he wanted to switch with her, the guilt following him like a storm, thunder and lightning and power outages and self-loathing that still snuck up on him, years later. He looked out to the ocean again and breathed shakily through his mouth so Mr. Miyagi couldn’t hear him.

“I felt so guilty...like he did everything for me, and I didn't do anything for him.” He could feel it now, like the ocean he was watching was going darker, pulling him under. He hoped, with a selfless, destructive fierceness, that Mr. Miyagi didn’t feel like he did. 

“Then one day I realized, I did the greatest thing for him before he died.” He put his arm around Mr. Miyagi’s shoulders and held tightly. A tear slipped free but he left it. “I was there with him a-and I held his hand.” He took another shaky breath and tried to keep his breath steady. “And I said good-bye.”

Mr. Miyagi didn’t speak, but it didn’t matter. Daniel held him and looked out to the ocean. He wouldn’t go inside until he did, he promised himself. He wouldn’t. 

***

Johnny had a quiet dinner with Yukie, who insisted that they dine together, while Daniel went looking for Mr. Miyagi. He could see the shiny tear tracks on Yukie’s face, and didn’t know what to say. He was bad at comforting people, he knew that, and he didn’t really know her. But she talked quietly to him about the village, about the vegetables people grew, and the conversation was easy, for a while. 

And then dinner was over, and she was excusing herself to clean up, and refusing his offer to help. So he sat on his little sleeping mat and read _The History of Okinawa_ as the light fell, leaning the book this way and that to catch the remaining light. 

He tried not to think about Daniel being gone for so long, and about what that could mean. He didn’t want to think about how Mr. Miyagi must be feeling, much less how Daniel was probably bending over backwards to make it better. That only made him feel weird, in a way that he couldn’t explain even if he wanted to. 

And then he was dozing off, the book open on his lap even if he hadn’t been able to read it in a while, and Daniel was sliding the door open, and Johnny could barely see his silhouette by the door. 

“Hey,” he said, just to let Daniel know he was awake. Daniel didn’t answer, but Johnny could hear him moving around in the room, rustling with things, moving them with more force than necessary. “Is Mr. Miyagi okay?” 

Daniel didn’t answer, but let out a shaking breath, and sat down on the floor, his legs crossed in front of him, his back to Johnny. As if he could hide what was happening. 

“Shit,” Johnny muttered, sitting up completely. “Hey, LaRusso, come on.” He winced. What the hell was he trying to do? 

And then he felt Daniel’s hand grab blindly for his and he took it, pulling him back against his chest, and Daniel was crying, sobbing silently, his whole body shaking with it, and when he breathed it was like he spent minutes underwater and he was fighting for his life. He turned in Johnny’s hold and buried his face in his shoulder, hands tight in his shirt. 

He didn’t know what to say, so he settled for nothing at all. He just held – hands gentle halfway up Daniel’s back, rocking him slightly from left to right, the way his mother used to when he cried as a child. Daniel didn’t protest – he was saying something, a nonsensical babble that Johnny couldn’t make out, so he settled for quietly saying “it’s okay, it’s going to be okay” over and over again, and then Daniel was crying so hard he was coughing, like he couldn’t breathe, and Johnny had to make him pull away to sit up straight so he could breathe deep, inhaling the damp, humid air. 

_It’s going to be okay._


End file.
